


Scars

by Judithan



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judithan/pseuds/Judithan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The actions of our past will not define us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, they are human in this, simply because I may like Sonic, but I've got a little bit of dignity left. Not much, but enough.

The feeling of a gloved hand nudging his face wakes him from his slumber. Sitting up, he finds the source of his wake-up call to be the standing form of a certain black-and-red-haired male across the room. He wasn't entirely sure when he had fallen asleep, but he knew that when he passed out he was in his own bed, not in some strange bed in a room he had never seen before. However, he had more pressing issues to deal with first.

'Shadow? Why is he here?' he thinks to himself, bringing a mitten-covered hand up to his face, attempting the scratch his nose through the fabric. It was only now that the events of last night were coming back to him, though hazy at first.

"How did you sleep?" Shadow's voice is calm, and perfectly level, just as it usually is.

"Pretty good, I suppose." He says, rolling his shoulders casually before popping his neck. Looking down, he notices that even though his mittens are still on, his jacket has been removed, same with his shoes. Did Shadow undress him? It was pointless to ask questions he couldn't answer.

"That's good. I'm sure you slept better than I did, at least." Shadow says, trying to sound nonchalant, but coming off as bitter. Looking around, Knuckles only notices the single couch on the far side of the one-room apartment –was this even an apartment? It looked more like a room in the GUN headquarters.

"Sorry about that." Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, the guardian makes a major mistake of trying to stand up, finding his legs weak and head swimming. Without a second thought, Shadow is in front of him, gloved hands holding him up by his shoulders.

"W-what happened? Why do I feel so awful?" Suddenly the light hurts, and he has to cover his eyes with one of his hands. Even though he's not looking, anymore, he can feel Shadow's hands on his shoulders and the worried expression on his usually aggressive face.

"There was an… accident last night. Do you remember?" The concern in the brooding male's voice sparks the memory of sirens, their insistent whaling echoing in the redhead's ears. He opens his eyes for the briefest of moments, and feels blood on his hands, but he knows it's just his imagination. There's nothing there but clean, white fabric. The sirens are but a memory, and the blood is all in his head.

'I must have… imagined it, I suppose' the redhead muses to himself, swallowing shallowly.

"I-is he okay?" They both know the blue-haired male in reference, and Shadow gives him a plaintive look before averting his red stare. A pang of self-disgust and bile boils in the red-haired male's stomach. He can't remember anything but the crunch of limbs, and the sound of a hero being destroyed. Everything in his body tenses, and he feels so brittle he'll break at any contact.

"He's in critical condition, but when Amy last told us his condition, she said he was doing better. She hasn't left his side all night." The word's come out of his mouth slowly, almost as if trying to find the right words –Sonic was his rival, and even though he hated him, it wasn't like he wanted him dead.

"What," Knuckles pauses for a moment, looking at his feet, absently noting how his feet were slightly larger than the brooding male holding him upright. "What exactly happened to him? What happened to us? I don't remember too much…" His voice trails off, uncertain. The hands on his shoulders tighten, if just in the slightest, as though trying to feel reassuring. Looking up, he notices a wound on Shadow's cheek – a rough line that had scabbed over, likely from a stray bullet. Even though the male had tried to hide it with his black and red-streaked hair fringe, it was still plain on his face. The younger of the two muses for the briefest of moments as to whether or not it would scar. He quickly abandons the thought, though, finding it much too tedious to think about right now.

"It's better if you don't remember." Knuckles brings a hand up, tentatively touching the mark he had been eyeing on the male's cheek. It looked so fresh, and it only just occurred to the guardian that it had most likely been a bitter trophy of last night's events. A sharp inhale interrupts his thoughts.

"Was this from last night, Shadow?" Before he can get a proper answer, Shadow's hands are removed. Before Knuckles could say anything, however, he feels the pleasant weight of arms wrapping around his shoulders. Black hair floods his vision, and he can feel the silent need emanating from the older of the two. The sight brings back a flash of memories, but the image of a rain-soaked, blood covered figure lasts for all of a split second.

"I'm sorry." Terror boils in Knuckles's gut. Never had he heard the brooding male apologize, and the thought of it makes his throat constrict. Something seemed so familiar about this, though. Something was just so very familiar about the black and red blocking out everything else, and the scent of the man which was so distinctly him. Another flash of memories fills his mind, this time the raining water is indistinguishable from the downpour of bullets. The clash of thunder muting out screaming echoes in his ears, and he nearly shudders before the thought is gone.

"Shadow, what happened to me? What happened to you?" This wasn't so much a demand as it was a fear needing to be put to rest.

"I can't tell you. There's no need for you to remember anything about last night. Just know that, if you need to, you can rely on me for as much as you need."

"Shadow, why are you…" Neither of them want the redhead to finish the sentence, so he doesn't, and settles for shutting his mouth and starring into Shadow's black, military uniform shirt. With his ear nearly pressed to the taller male's chest, he can hear the hasty rhythm of his heart. What was he so nervous about? Was he afraid?

"Because, I promised her I would."

The 'her' he mentions doesn't need to be elaborated. They both know who 'she' is.

"What –"

"The most I can tell you about last night is that, well," He gives a nervous pause, and Knuckles can feel him silently tremble, unsure with his words. "You died. You aren't supposed to be alive right now. I don't know why, and it's completely idiotic of me that I did, but I risked my life to save yours. I promised her." The shorter male's breath hitches, eyes widening almost painfully. Is that why his body refuses to stand up straight, or even cooperate in the slightest, and his vision and thoughts are all muddled and cloudy? Unbeknownst to the guardian, behind Shadow's eyes played the image of his body slapping the ground, over and over, the sick sound of skin meeting pavement still ringing in his ears. Even trying to block it out makes him shudder, just ever so slightly, and Knuckles is only terrified as to why.

"Then why can't I remember any of this? What happened?" Knuckles's voice is quiet, but it's enough for them both to hear. Even though he didn't want to let the other know he was afraid, he could feel his hands trembling as they clutched to the front of the older male's shirt.

"More bloodshed and conflict. That's all I can say." The arms around his shoulders tighten, almost as though to reassure Shadow that his is, still in fact, alive and well.

"How is everyone else, then? I can see that you're doing fine, and Amy is apparently okay, but what about Rouge, and Tails? What happened to them?" The tone of his voice is desperate, but with good reason. If he supposedly died, and the self-proclaimed 'blue hero' is in critical condition, then god only knows what happened to the remaining two members of their team – and as much as the redhead would deny it, he truly did care about the bat-winged girl.

"Tails is going to be just fine, just a bit shaken for a while. Rouge, however…" Arms tightened around Knuckle's shoulders, and the silence made the redhead's heart nearly break. He couldn't handle any more of this. "One of her arms was torn off, and she's been having trouble hearing, but that's mostly likely a temporary effect from the explosion. Other than that, she's doing fine. She'll just… need time." Words chosen carefully, and Knuckles nearly stopped breathing. He ripped away from Shadow's grasp, finding the other looking a bit disheveled and sleepless.

"Fine? She's doing fine? One of her arms was torn off!" Fury roars through his voice. Never had he felt so undermined in his life – how dare this fucker say that she was perfectly fine! Nothing about this situation seemed to be fine, in the slightest!

"She's lucky to have gotten out of there with her life! You don't understand, Knuckles, it's a fucking miracle we made it out at all." The gravity of the situation suddenly seems to hit him, all at once, and the only way to keep from falling over is to simply sit down, wide-eyed and speechless. His limbs go limp, and his throat tightens, almost choking him like a noose.

"What happened out there? You're not acting like yourself. I thought you said it yourself, you're the ultimate life form." He feigns a chuckle, trying something, anything to simply make everything normal again, but even he couldn't believe himself. Nothing about this situation is right, and nothing could even start to make it right.

"Bullets will always win." Before the guardian can realize it, he slips his fingers between the older male's, who had taken to sitting next to him on the creaky, military bed. "It wasn't a battle – it was a massacre."

"How many?" He pauses for a second, trying to find his courage to continue. "Died, I mean. How many?" Before he can phrase it any better, the words slip out, and he can see the man in front of him visibly flinch. He mentally chastises himself, but quickly stops, preferring to focus on other things. Suddenly, the bleak, metal floor in front of him is the single most interesting thing in the world.

"More than I'm comfortable with." The younger of the two can feel his heart practically rip right out of his chest. No words could ever make him so on edge, and the only thing keeping him from shattering is the hand tightly gripping his back. The male's hands are so tight and warm, and so very reassuring and so very powerless to the carnage of mankind.

No matter the time, these kinds of scars don't heal.


End file.
